Some of us were those kids in school who hated group projects, and would rather work alone. We know if we did the work ourselves, it would be up to our standards. We worried that others might not carry their weight. We didn’t want to work with people who weren’t our close friends.

It’s okay if you were that “ugh, not another group project” kid. I was that kid. If you were — or are! — that kid (or adult), I have two main thoughts: That’s a totally human and understandable perspective… And it’s one you should try to change.

Sometimes yes, we absolutely can be our most productive or efficient if we get to make our decisions and execute in a silo, on our own. (Heck, I quit my job to be a full-time independent consultant for kind of that reason!) But we don’t each run our own little fiefdom. We are all part of a team. If you’re indie like me, you still have clients you need to work alongside as coworkers. You have customers who expect you to work with them.

We each bring our own perspective and lens, and that’s good and important and frankly is our unique value. But we have to recognize that… so does everyone else. Hearing takes from other folks — even if we disagree with those takes — is of course still incredibly informative.

I love confidence and I think it serves you well with customers, bosses, colleagues… but I also love humility. You can fake confidence, but you shouldn’t fake confidence when you don’t know the answer.

I’ve written before about the power of saying “I don’t know.” You can confidently not know something. Sometimes you know you don’t know. But when you think you’re right — and face it, most of us think we’re right most of the time — you need to trust that your colleagues may have insights or knowledge that you lack, and that their competing perspectives are worth entertaining.

Trust is all about vulnerability. You are relying on someone else. This is why goofy trust falls are a thing. Some of us are nervous flyers in part because we’re giving up all control — the pilot’s flying the plane, and we have to trust them. 

Trust is hard, because feeling vulnerable — admitting vulnerability — is hard. It’s okay to struggle with trust — as long as you’re willing to work on it.



To trust someone requires three fundamentals:

1. You need to feel they’re being authentic and honest.

2. You need to believe that they have the right information and the right logic.

3. You need to believe that they have the right intentions, that they’re on your side and rooting for your success.

And, of course, to be trusted by others requires that you demonstrate those same qualities.

None of this is easy or automatic. Building trust takes time — but also effort. If, for example, you’re feeling a struggle to trust or be trusted in meetings, I encourage you to make your presence at them more human and involved. That’s not about in-person meetings. I’m saying if you’re on a Zoom, encourage EVERYONE to turn off their computers’ notifications, to put their phones in Do Not Disturb, and to put their cameras on. 

We are all guilty of believing we basically know what everyone else is going to say in some meetings, so we stop paying attention for a moment while we quickly respond to an email, or look at a text, or text someone else in the meeting about the very meeting we are in. 

We are also all guilty of suddenly hearing our name and knowing that we now need to answer a question, but we aren’t sure what the topic was because we were doing something else.

You can cultivate trust for yourself and others, and empathy for yourself and others, by being present and plugged in, which is harder than ever with smartphones and watches, and harder still over video calls. But you can force yourself to do it, and you’ll find you’re perceived as more trustworthy over time — and that you see your colleagues that way, too.



That’s one small thing: Meeting etiquette. And it’s a tough habit to build and a tough habit to maintain. Trust is also hard to build and maintain. Think of trust as something you’re actively working on and developing.

Give yourself room in each interaction with colleagues to think, how can I build trust in this conversation? How can I demonstrate that they can trust me, and how can I take this opportunity to trust them?

What expertise, patience, empathy, or insight can I share?



There’s no shortcut here, but putting in the work pays off. Trust me.

I was working with a client recently who sells a premium service. Sometimes, even seemingly hot-to-trot prospects start ghosting — or at least get very… slow… to… respond. I previously shared my email that gets a response nearly 100% of the time in those scenarios, but I wanted to share a quick tip I offered this client for a prospect who kept going quiet.

Let’s say you’ve traded emails with someone you know can go silent for days or weeks at a time. When you finally do get a response — say, one that promises new information or an update “sometime next week,” your instinct, ideally, is to send a thank-you note their way.

I love a thank-you note. Do send one. Just don’t send it right away.

I know you’re excited to get a reply, and I know you want to express gratitude for said reply… But waiting a few days gives you the power of an organic opportunity to tickle the prospect’s inbox again, without seeming (too) annoying.

Monday: You email them

Next Monday: You email them again

Finally, the following Thursday: They reply and say more information will come mid-week the following week

Hold your fire! Don’t reply yet.

Perhaps Tuesday of that following week, you send a note: “Thanks! Looking forward to it.”

You’ve now sent a thank you note (yay!), you’ve nudged them (woohoo!), and you’ve done it without explicitly saying HEY I’M NUDGING YOU.

That’s a win/win/win.

Most of Your Intermittent Lex is available for free to everyone. Some folks choose to become paid subscribers, which is of course incredibly kind. A small number of posts are just for them. This is one of them, but here’s a short preview for everyone.

A decade ago — and wow does that hit me hard, that this was a full decade ago — Jessica Winter published a story that stuck with me for Slate, which she called “The Kindly Brontosaurus.” (For what it's worth, I always always think of it as “The Friendly Brontosaurus,” and mistakenly used “Friendly” several times in my original draft of this piece.)

The key section is reproduced below, but I strongly encourage you to read the whole thing:

A practitioner, nay, an artist, of the Kindly Brontosaurus method would approach the gate agent as follows. You state your name and request. You make a clear and concise case. And then, after the gate agent informs you that your chances of making it onto this flight are on par with the possibility that a dinosaur will spontaneously reanimate and teach himself to fly an airplane, you nod empathically, say something like “Well, I’m sure we can find a way to work this out,” and step just to the side of the agent’s kiosk.

Here is where the Kindly Brontosaurus rears amiably into the frame. You must stand quietly and lean forward slightly, hands loosely clasped in a faintly prayerful arrangement. You will be in the gate agent’s peripheral vision—close enough that he can’t escape your presence, not so close that you’re crowding him—but you must keep your eyes fixed placidly on the agent’s face at all times. Assemble your features in an understanding, even beatific expression. Do not speak unless asked a question. Whenever the gate agent says anything, whether to you or other would-be passengers, you must nod empathically.

Continue as above until the gate agent gives you your seat number. The Kindly Brontosaurus always gets a seat number.

I have many, many thoughts on this piece.

First off, I think some folks could read that and think, “wow, the friendly kindly brontosaurus is an asshole.” I get that. It can be jerky, executed wrong.

But I don’t think the kindly brontosaurus is about physical presence or intimidation of any form. I think it’s about remaining top of mind, exuding confidence and non-obnoxious charm, and also both empathy for the other person’s situation — and trust in their ability to solve problems.

That’s asking a lot of a posture. But it works — and it even works over email and chat and phone tech support.

When my dad has a tech support or customer service issue, he relies on volume. It’s a not uncommon approach: yell until you get your way. Yelling feels cathartic for the yeller sometimes. Anger boils. Yelling helps us vent.

But it’s a not a great way to get things done. (And it’s also not a great way to treat humans, for what it's worth.)

Winter’s focus really is the physical posture. She quotes a body language expert (Dr. Lillian Glass), who says that the position shows “a humility, so you allow the other person to feel empowered,” making them “more receptive to you.”

You don’t need your body to do that. You can use your word and approach as well. Perhaps you’ve sent one of those letters to a CEO of a business whose company wronged you in some way, appealing to the CEO’s sense of responsibility and pride. But this approach — of trusting and empowering the other person while remaining firm in my needs — is the crux of my business strategy. As I said, the trick is making it natural and not coming off suave or jerky, which obviously won’t work.

It’s why my email with a near-100% response rate works, I think: I’m being clear that I don’t want to waste your time because I respect the message you’re giving me, but I’m also reminding you in a non-obnoxious way that I’m there and I do need your help or feedback, if you can afford to share it.

The kindly brontosaurus relies on firm politeness, trust, and even empowerment of the person you’re dealing with. And that dino’s mindset and approach closes deals. It gets things done.